The Man Who Sold the World
by lambiekins
Summary: With only weeks to go before Bella leaves the nest, Charlie teaches her a little life lesson about the very different kinds of love he’s experienced in his lifetime.
1. Chapter 1: Growin' Up

**Title:** The Man Who Sold the World

**Author:** Lamb

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Summary: ** With only weeks to go before Bella leaves the nest, Charlie teaches her a little life lesson about the very different kinds of love he's experienced in his lifetime.

* * *

I wasn't in my kitchen anymore. Far from it, even. I was in a lush, green meadow peppered with tiny yellow and blue flowers. It wasn't any meadow; it was _my_ meadow. _My happy place_, as it'd been so often referred to these days. I was in the meadow with Edward, his angel's face glowing dimly from the sun that was setting behind the trees.

I crawled closer, extending my hand to reach for his and coaxing him into meet me somewhere in the middle. Taking the initiative—something I was so rarely allowed to do—I pressed my lips hard against his. Edward hesitated for a moment, his fingers winding into my hair as he kissed me back.

Once; twice; three times.

I slid my arms from around his neck, finding the button at the collar of his shirt as I hurriedly undid it. There was no pause as I moved onto the next button or the one after that; I kept moving my hands as if I was too afraid that he'd stop me. I wanted this _too badly_ for him to stop me.

…I was daydreaming _again_. I was daydreaming a lot, really. It'd become my refuge from the busy wedding planning and my refuge from _Alice_. In my mind, I was already long gone—fingertips against flesh; a gentle summer wind blowing across the meadow—and then the intense burning took over.

I hissed as I pulled my hand away from the pan, snapped painfully back into _reality_.

I groaned, sucking softly at my fingers. "Son of a b—"

"Watch out, kid," Charlie cut me off, reaching for my hand. "Let me take a look."

I furrowed my brow as Charlie reached for my hand, examining it closely. With his free hand, he reached to turn the faucet on and brought my hand under the water. I wriggled my fingers beneath the running tap and couldn't help but feel like a child. It was oddly reminiscent of sitting on the front steps as Charlie wiped a scraped knee with disinfectant; the thought made me smile a little.

"_Thanks_, dad…" I murmured. "You really didn't have to."

Charlie didn't really say much in the way of 'you're welcome'; instead he just wandered back to the table and slumped back against his chair. Something was off, and it was clear to see that Charlie was far away as he glanced out the window; I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking as I went back to stirring the contents of the pan.

I plopped a large pile of sauce and noodles onto Charlie's plate and slid it down on the table next to him. He hardly noticed, and now I was concerned. I weighed my options, contemplating whether or not I should bring it up, but part of me worried it would turn into another conversation about Jacob, and I just couldn't take anymore. This week had been too stressful. With the wedding so close I'd been pushed and pulled every which way, and I was thankful that the Cullens had been hunting for the last few days, even if they'd taken Edward with them.

I slid down in the seat across from him and frowned. I couldn't eat with this clawing at me, and as I swirled my fork in the spaghetti, I glanced up at him and cleared my throat.

"Is something wrong, Dad? You're awfully quiet tonight…"

Charlie was quiet for a long moment, and then shook his head. "I'm just thinking."

* * *

Charlie was sitting on the sofa when I finished with my dishes, the same lines formed on his furrowed brow. I sighed heavily; deciding it was best to leave him alone I headed for the stairs, but the second I'd set my foot on the first step, he glanced over toward me.

"Bells," he hesitated, "could I have a few words with you? It's kind of important."

I groaned internally—it _was_ about Jacob and, honestly? The last thing I wanted before bed was another chat about how worried Charlie was about Jacob, how upset he was with Billy's aloof attitude, or how I should be more concerned. I _was_ concerned—my Jacob, my best man was _missing_—and it hurt me more than _anyone_ knew; more than even _I_ knew. I was _worn out, _and all I wanted was to crawl into bed and wait for Edward to come back from his little hunting expedition.

I plopped down on the sofa, trying my best not to look too dejected, but I didn't say a word. If I was being honest with myself, it was taking everything I had not to run up the stairs and lock my door like a child throwing a tantrum.

"I… I know that you're _so sure_ about Edward, but," he muttered.

I cut him off, horrified. "Don't _even, Charlie_! _Don't even_ start trying to talk me out of—"

"It's not _that_, kid, I swear. But, look, I just want to talk to you; is that so awful? Can't you give your ol' dad a chance to tell you a little story? This is something I really think you should hear."

Charlie gave me a hopeful look and I sighed, settling back against the sofa with my arms crossed tightly against my chest. I was completely guarded now and pouting petulantly, and after a long moment of silence I gestured for him to continue.

"Okay, so," Charlie mumbled, trying to choose his words more carefully this time. "I wanted to tell you a story, and it's probably long and boring but just… hear me out on this, please? I've never really told anyone this story before."

"I'm _all ears_, dad," I replied, only half-sarcastic.

Charlie picked up on it, sighing heavily. "I'm _trying_ to be serious here, Bells. Not trying to get you to reconsider anything, not trying to get you to call off this whole _wedding—_hell, kid; at this point, Alice'd probably kill us if anyone tried—I'm just _trying_ to explain some things, okay?"

Something about Charlie's tone seemed completely different; if anything, I could tell that he was being sincere. I sat up—less guarded this time—and listened as Charlie began to talk. For what I was sure was one of the first, last, and only times in my life, my father and I were having a '_father-daughter'_ moment like the ones on television.

* * *

**A/N:** First off, I want to say that everything about this story is being inspired by _David Bowie_. Even if not directly, but you'll notice a lot of Bowie titles as chapter titles. For some reason, the Bella in my head loves Bowie and this is a love I would guess she got from Charlie, who might have been a _lot_ cooler in his day, really. There's a lot of research going behind this fanfic and I've put a lot of work into it—so please, don't discount it just because it's not how you imagined things.

With that said, I really hope you all enjoy this one.


	2. Chapter 2: The Prettiest Star

**Title:** The Man Who Sold the World — Ch. 2

**Author:** Lamb

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Summary: ** With only weeks to go before Bella leaves the nest, Charlie teaches her a little life lesson about the very different kinds of love he's experienced in his lifetime.

* * *

I lived in Forks my whole life. Forks was all I knew, really, unless you counted the occasional trip to Seattle or Olympia, the weekends with friends in Port Angeles, or the weekly visits to La Push. What difference did it really make? Forks was my home. I was born here; I grew up here; and for all I knew I'd die here, too.

I lead a simple life. I had a few good, close friends and honestly? I was happy as could be. I was eighteen years old, and the last thing I was looking for was to settle down. And really, why would I? How fair would it be to any girl to have to be neglected in a relationship while I had my own things going on?

So I never put myself in that situation. I never let myself get attached to someone and I never really dated seriously. Maybe, just maybe… for Sue Uley, I should have changed my mind. She was the epitome of _'the girl who got away'_: beautiful, kind, and hell, even my parents loved her. But I was stupid—I didn't even pursue her—and now she's married.

What's worse? It was my best friend that married her.

I was caught between heaven and hell—between happiness and unhappiness—and there was nothing I could do about it. Yep, here I was—like a trooper—sitting through what I'd almost call torture: watching the girl of my dreams—the girl I've loved since before God knows when—get married, and to my best friend, of all people. What kind of sick, twisted shit is that?

I wanted to be happy; really, I did. But part of me couldn't help but want to drown my sorrows in the cheapest liquor the ol' Clearwater clan was providing for the festivities.

And drown my sorrows I did.

'Cause every time I so much as looked at Sue, the feeling only got worse. She looked so Goddamn pretty with her hair all twisted and twirled up like that and she practically glowed in the—very rare—summer sun. I couldn't help thinking, _'that's my girl there,'_ and _'she should be wearin' that pretty dress to marry me,'_ but she wasn't. So what good did it do thinking about it?

I sighed, kicking my feet up on an empty chair to the left of me and took another long swig of my beer. I was going to have to be _real_ drunk if I wanted to keep pretending I was happy.

"I _told_ you we'd find him over here sulking," a small, sad voice announced.

I didn't want to look up, but my near-drunken state betrayed me and I met eyes with one of the last people I wanted to see—Sarah Ateara was too damn sweet for her own good, and the last thing I wanted or needed was her sympathy.

"Go _away_," I grumbled.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Sarah smiled, plopping down on the seat next to me. "Billy, go get him a glass of water or… _something_ that isn't alcoholic, please?"

Billy nodded toward her, mumbling something I didn't quite catch, and was off with my bottle of beer in hand. Sarah just sighed, smoothing down her dress, and then _I_ sighed. I knew what was going on—I was being babysat.

Billy returned with a glass of punch and sat it in front of me with a bit of a grin. He found it a lot more amusing than I had, and I glared at him in return before placing my head back on the table.

"Traitor," I mumbled, hoping Billy had heard it.

What'd I need babysitting for, anyway? I wasn't going to do or say anything stupid—I was smarter than that and I'd never been much of a talker anyway. This was Sue's day, and I was going to smile and pretend that none of this upset me if it killed me.

Sure, you could take Billy's side on this and just say he was being a good friend—and he was, really—but I wasn't some incompetent asshole.

Billy sighed, shaking his head at something off in the distance. I wondered who he was looking at, but I wasn't about to interact with these damn yahoos. The second I paid them any attention, they'd be all in my business again. Billy answered the unspoken question for me, anyway.

"It looks like the bride is looking for you, Chuck."

Of course she is.

She was looking for me because I did my best to avoid her all damn day. I stayed out of her direct line of sight and I didn't bother going up to her and Harry to give my congratulations. Not because I wasn't happy for them—really, I was—but because, hell, I was a damn coward.

Sue was busy being _the blushing bride_; busy being harassed by all these damn people she hardly knew. _'Poor girl,'_ I thought, but the truth was—Sue wanted this attention. The Quileutes have their own traditions and Sue had her traditional Quileute wedding _ceremony_ thing… but this? This, my friend, is for the '_pale faces.'_

_

* * *

  
_

The wedding reception dragged on and whether I liked it or not, I was already sobering up. Billy and Sarah never left my side, and really, I got over my bitterness for them crowdin' me the way they were, but it was just replaced with a new sort of bitterness. I was bitter because I was a fifth wheel. Harry had Sue, Billy had Sarah, and I had—what? A goddamn application for _the Washington State Criminal Justice Training Commission_?

All of the sudden, I was feeling pretty damn pitiful. Had I really wasted all these years and ended up alone? What happened to all of our plans we had when we were in high school? Hell, if they weren't knocked up and getting married, they were jumping the gun and getting engaged. Sell outs.

But now there were more pressing matters—the girls all clamoring together to catch this stupid bouquet like their lives and futures depended on it. Billy and I stood in the back as Sue teased the girls with the damn flowers.

"If Sarah catches it, we're getting married," Billy announced, though it sounded he was talking to himself for a moment there.

I was a little taken back. "Since when do you believe in the white man's traditions, Mr. Black? I thought you thought this was all bullshit, too."

"I do," he replied with a shrug. "But now's as good a time as any. Let _fate_ decide it, I guess. I told her that if I caught the dumb garter thing and she caught the flowers, we'd get married."

And there it was—my very best friend was a traitor now too. Was this some disease that was spreading rapidly? Suddenly everyone would be married, and good ol' Charlie Swan would be alone forever because he squandered his one chance to be with the girl of his dreams? I didn't say a damn word after that; I kept my mouth shut and watched the stupidest tradition of them all.

The girls lined up in this way that was reminiscent of a football game. All of them looks so Goddamn defensive—crouched down, eyes on the prize, and when Sue threw the damn flowers they all jumped, practically clawing at each other as they wrestled each other down for the bouquet.

It went on for a good two or three minutes. No one ever got the right grip on the bouquet but they never hit the ground and then—like some sort of miracle—a hand rose out from the pile of crazy women with the roses in hand.

Sarah Ateara caught that damn bouquet.

I swear to God, I think I saw Billy's eyes glisten from some weird form of pride at _his_ triumphant Sarah. This whole damn wedding was suddenly too touchy-feely, lovey-dovey for old Chuck. I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed back to the table, but Billy's hand yanked me back by the elbow.

"What the hell?" I demanded gruffly.

"You're next," Sarah smiled, still waving her flowers in front of her face. "The _boys_ are next—it's the garter toss. Aren't you going to participate? You might have some fun."

Billy just sighed as I tried to talk my way out of it, but it seemed pointless at this point. I was too sober for my own good at this point, and Sue just about ten or fifteen feet away from me. Eye contact was a bad thing, because she signaled me over and I just did what she _gestured_.

Lucky for me, the garter toss wasn't nearly as bad in comparison. I mean, sure, men are competitive, but we looked a lot less serious about this. Harry slipped his hands beneath Sue's dress and slid the garter down, tossing it to the crowd.

"Oh, for _fuck's sake_,_" _I groaned.

Because despite what _I_ wanted, none of the men leaped at the garter the way the women had leapt for the flowers and the damn thing landed right on top of my head. Hell, they didn't even try to grab the damn thing. I _'caught'_ the garter and _Sue_ saw it.

"Congratulations, Charlie. Who's the lucky girl?" she asked in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers. "When's the wedding?"

I knew she was joking, but something about it made me sick. I stared at her like a deer in headlights—wide-eyed, mouth agape—and put my hand over my mouth, using my free hand to throw the damn garter at Billy as I ran off.

Fuck this, fuck the wedding, and fuck everything else.

* * *

I spent a miserable thirty-eight minutes with my head against porcelain. I puked twice, but now I was dry-heaving. No idea whether this had anything to do with the booze or if it was just Sue's voice or everything that had just happened, but I felt like shit.

I washed my face and finally dragged my ass out of the bathroom. I headed back out to go get my car keys and instantly regretted it. Sue was sitting with Billy and Sarah at our table, and when she caught a glance at me she was grinning ear-to-ear.

"Welcome back," she chimed. "Are you feeling better?"

"Not really," I replied. In fact, I could taste the bile rising in my throat.

I made a reach for my keys, but Sue stopped me. "_Don't_. If you aren't feeling well, you really shouldn't be driving. Just hang out a little longer, please? If you aren't feeling better soon, I'm sure Billy and Sarah will take you home."

"I'm feeling just fine. I'm perfectly _fine_ to be driving myself home."

But of course, she knew I was mostly lying. We had known each other too long, and some things didn't need words. She knew me and I knew her. Her eyes narrowed, prodding at me, and I just sighed and picked up my keys from the table.

"Goodnight, folks. Enjoy the rest of the festivities."

I didn't even bother to let them say goodnight. I turned back around, shoved my keys in my pockets and headed through the house to get to my car. What was the point of staying anymore? Hadn't I been embarrassed enough—put through _enough_ torture?

When I got back to my car, I was already shedding the layers—stripping off the jacket, the vest, and loosening the tie. If these hadn't belonged to my father I might have burned them, but I suspected he'd probably want them back.

I didn't want any memory of this damn night.


End file.
